


black flowers blossom

by Mia_Zeklos



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fire and Ice Symbolism, Is sad fluff a thing? It is now., Light Angst, Post-Season/Series 07, Secrets, alternative summary: Dany Knows but doesn't want to say it just yet, and Daenerys's... unique thoughts on what makes a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 13:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15050072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Zeklos/pseuds/Mia_Zeklos
Summary: There's something wrong. Jon isn't sure what it is - not since all that's happened is a short conversation between Bran and Daenerys - but he's determined to find out.





	black flowers blossom

**Author's Note:**

> /title taken from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0TKMi0cgPw)./
> 
> First fic for this ship! The idea just popped up in my mind - what if Dany was the first one to learn the truth? How would she react? What would she say? - and I decided to expand on it. Hopefully it's enjoyable. Feedback is always welcome!

Winterfell was as quiet as it ever got by the time Jon got to the Queen’s bedroom – which was to say, not at all so. All its occupants had settled down for the night, but it was still brimming with life outside even this late into the evening and it was almost enough to mask his movement through the castle as he made his way to his destination. It wasn’t that he was ashamed in any way, of course; they’d just both agreed that it was better to avoid the complications of being seen spending the night together at least for now.

Daenerys had been adamant about getting the room at the end of the hallway, no matter how often she’d been told that it was also colder than almost any other place in the castle and now, as Jon knocked on her door, the confusion that that choice brought with itself only intensified. He could hear the wind howling against the walls, swirling between the towers, and couldn’t help but think that this was no place for someone who’d spent so long in the south.

But, “Come in,” she called out and he pushed the door open to reveal the dimly lit chamber – one that he hadn’t visited at all before her arrival but that felt almost as familiar as his own now.

She was sitting on the ground by the fire, nothing but a carpet separating her from the floor, eyes fixed on the way the flames moved inside the fireplace and her arms wrapped around her knees as if taking up less space would somehow mean that she’d get warmer sooner. It was _endearing_ , even with the paper-thin nightgown she was dressed in and that wasn’t something Jon felt prepared to say to her face, but he still couldn’t bite back the smile when she turned to face him. She’d let her hair down, he noticed, and that was somehow special too, in a way he couldn’t quite define. It was still unmistakably _her_ ; just in a light he’d never got to see before.

“It’s very cold,” Daenerys said as soon as the door fell shut again and Jon’s grin grew wider. She’d got accustomed to just about every other aspect of the life here, but this continued to be a problem.

“I told you it would be.”

“It doesn’t matter where my room is.” Her lips had curled into a smile too, but there was something hollow about it; haunted, almost. “It’s cold everywhere.”

“It takes some getting used to. And there must be more blankets somewhere—”

“No.” The refusal was abrupt. Daenerys patted the empty space in front of her. “Come. Sit.”

There was something wrong. Jon didn’t need to ask to be able to tell and the realisation made his blood run colder than the stone walls around him. _Many_ things were wrong, of course, but this felt— different. Personal, somehow. Still, he obeyed and took his place next to the fireplace, sitting cross-legged once they were face to face.

“Has something happened?”

“You could say that.” When she looked at him, her face was bathed in the warmth of the flames, but her eyes were solid ice. “Your brother wanted to speak with you but found me instead. Perhaps it’s best you talk to him yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Jon agreed cautiously. Whatever it was that Bran had to tell him, it couldn’t be that bad; she wouldn’t have spared him from it otherwise. “Was it— was he— we the Northerners—”

“He hasn’t _offended_ me, Jon.” The notion itself seemed to be ridiculous. “It’s just something he said. It doesn’t make sense. Or it does, and that is why it—” Her gaze darted towards him again. “Does the fire bother you?”

“No.” It _was_ rather warm, now that she’d mentioned it, but not enough to distract him from the swift change of topic. “What does it matter?”

“Give me your hand.” He did. Daenerys intertwined their fingers and brought them closer to herself, her hold light and casual as always even as Jon’s grip tightened around her reflexively at the sudden influx of heat. “Does it burn now?”

“It’s—.” This was important to her, but figuring out _how_ exactly was a struggle. It wasn’t unbearable, but it wasn’t far from it either; just the worse side of ‘unpleasant’. “It _is_ really hot.”

“But you’re never cold.” The statement was stuck somewhere between an accusation and a question.

“I told you; I’m just used to it. I lived on the Wall for _years_.” Jon didn’t move away, eager to get as close to the bottom of this as possible. “What—”

It was too late – she’d let him go and had recoiled once again, somehow even more distant than before. Her hand was inching closer to the crackling fire at the edge almost absently. Jon forced himself to look away. “It’s nothing.”

Jon suppressed a sigh. He loved her, he knew that much by now, but it was so much _easier_ when she wasn’t holding back so much; when they could be open in their questions to one another.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said at last, voice oddly uncertain.

“It doesn’t?”

“No.” Her smile was much more genuine now. “It doesn’t.”

“How come?”

Daenerys shifted around in the limited space between them until they were pressed closer to each other and Jon could feel the warmth of her washing over him when she leant in, hair cascading over her shoulders and brushing his chest. _This_ he loved far too much already – the occasional playfulness and all the life that poured out of every gesture she made. “Because you’re never cold.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Jon wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, but made no move to get either of them in a more comfortable position. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does,” she assured him; a promise as tinged with sadness as it was with hope. Her fingers were tracing over his cheeks, down his jawline, as if she was trying to map out his features to remember later. “It will.”

When she kissed him and they tumbled onto the floor together, Jon could almost taste the embers on her lips.


End file.
